Death on a Deadline

That was the reason for John’s obvious doubt concerning Zac’s innocence? A trustworthy witness?
    “They’re not involved in the case and had no reason to lie that I could see. Look, let’s wait and see what Zac says, okay? I promise I’ll be as easy with him as possible.”
    “I still think Byron probably killed Hank.” I pointed at his badge. “Are you too much under his thumb to investigate the possibility?”
    “Please don’t say that again. I’m not under anyone’s thumb. But you have to stay out of this and let us do our job.”
    “Well, if you do your job, I will.” I pushed to my feet.
    “You know who you remind me of?” John tossed the half full Styrofoam cup into the round trashcan and leveled his gaze at me. “Hank Templeton. Always asking questions, always butting into other people’s business. And look how things ended for him. Is that what you want?”
    A tap at the door saved me from answering what I’m sure was a rhetorical question. Sergeant Betty Riley poked her curly head in the door. “They’re here, Chief.” She eyed me with a mix of sympathy and concern, so I was sure who “they” were. Carly and Zac had made it to the station.
    Ever the professional, John stood. “Jenna, I have to go.”
    “I’ll wait here for you to finish.” I crossed my legs and relaxed in my chair, eyeing the clear polish on my fingernails with great interest.
    John glared at me. “And go through my files? I don’t think so. Let me rephrase. You have to go.”
    Heat rushed up my neck and into my face. John knew me too well. “Fine.” I pushed myself to my feet. “I’ll wait in the hall,” I said over my shoulder as I shoved the door open.
    John was right behind me. “You’ll—” He stopped. My dad leaned against the wall beside the bench in th e hall. “Hello, Mr. Stafford.”
    “John.” Dad nodded. “ You doing okay?”
    “I’m sure sorry about all this.”
    I looked up at him. Why hadn’t he told me that?
    “I know you are. You’d better get on in and do your job. Carly and Zac are in there, with Alex, of course. Jenna and I will wait out here.”
    “Yes, sir.” John didn’t even glance at me as he walked down the hallway.
    Dad pulled me to him and patted my back. “You okay?”
    “Just tired of all of them trying to pin this on Zac. You?”
    He nodded and released me, giving me a g entle nudge toward the bench.
    I sat and he sank down beside me. “Do you know what’s going on?”
    I knew what John had told me, but often Daddy had an uncanny sense for the truth of the matter. “Do you?”
    He smiled. “I know you’ve been asking questions.”
    I looked at him. How did he know that? I knew Carly wouldn’t tell, and I hadn’t told anyone else.
    Behind the worry for Zac, I saw a little twinkle in his eye. He knew what I was thinking. “I heard it at the diner.”
    So, Debbie was a tattletale. Or was it Brendan? Or Byron? Or Amelia? Or Elliott? Whew. Maybe I should slow down on the questioning or at least quit assuming that nobody knew what I was up to.
    “Yeah, I’ve been trying to get a little information.” I found myself telling him everything—except about my job as Dear Pru, since I’d only gotten permission to tell Carly and no one else.
    “Sounds like you’ve been busy.”
    “So far nothing to show for it.” I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes. Here came the lecture. Mind your own business. I don’t want you to get hurt.
    “Maybe you haven’t asked the right person yet.”
    My eyes opened, and I looked over at my dad. No lecture? “Who else would I ask?”
    “Just so happens, I was at the diner the day Hank and Brendan had that argument.” He stroked his chin. “Sitting in the booth right behind them.”
    “Really?” To think I’d been avoiding my parents because I didn’t want them to find out I was investigating. I should have been questioning them.
    “I tried not to listen, but some things I couldn’t help but overhear.”
    “Like what?”
    “Mostly the same things Debbie heard. Something about a bag.”
    “Oh.” My heart plummeted. I’d imagined breaking the case right here and now.
    “But I also heard them mention the word pills several times.”
    “Pills?” Pills. Bag. The bag of empty pill bottles. I gasped. “Dad, Brendan Stiles is the murderer.” I jumped to my feet. “We’ve got to go tell John.”
    “Whoa, there, sweetie.” Dad reached out and touched my arm. “Sit down and let’s talk.”
    I